


it takes two

by corgoptimism



Category: League of Legends
Genre: "two monsters just chillin" is my brand now i guess, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Violence, Oneshot, but if youre wary of that take a pass on this one chief, come getchalls content., demon cuddles, eve and ahri both have (imo) thinly veiled addiction metaphors for lore, if you're not into that, mentions of Ominous Demon Mist tm, mentions of monster bodies, sometimes evelynn cant process feelings but she still tries real hard, that gets discussed here (not in plain terms tho)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corgoptimism/pseuds/corgoptimism
Summary: Ahri and Evelynn always find each other again, given enough time.





	it takes two

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't really proofread or anything; it's just warmup writing for another fic, but i liked it so i figured i'd post it!
> 
> there's nothing really super violent or nsfw in this one, but there are mentions of canon-typical freak shit, so again, if demon claws and slight body horror stuff give you the jeebies, that's valid and you should probably move on along.

She’s softer, with Ahri.

She doesn’t know why — half an age of instinct rages against her each time she combs through Ahri’s hair with all the gentleness her claws can offer, but the way she hums and leans into her hands is worth the struggle. It’s wrong, it’s horrid to be so exposed, but she can get lost in Ahri’s soul and her amber eyes; the way she looks at Evelynn like she’s the only thing left in the world, sometimes. She hates that Ahri has such sway over her; infatuation she’s known, but this is something more, something running deep and tangled about her core that resists every attempt she makes to define it. She feels as if she is coming apart at the edges, her essence leaking from behind fragile skin, when Ahri rests in her arms as Evelynn plays with her hair using purposefully blunted nails; she’s perfect like that, and the only utterly vulnerable thing that she has ever managed not to tear to pieces.

Ahri sleeps with only the sound of soft breaths, the drawn-out rise and fall of her chest in an even rhythm, and she’s ethereal in any light. Evelynn has never needed rest, so she watches her instead, tries to take her mind off it all by tracing the curve of Ahri’s jaw, careful not to wake her.

She steadies herself with the notion that she has always enjoyed worship — and that’s all it is. Worship, of a sort.

(Because if she were to call it anything else, she’d likely tear herself in two trying to comprehend it all.)

Ahri is softer with her, too; twines her fingers about claws sharp enough to pierce her skin with the smallest pressure and leans into her without fear, returns Evelynn’s sharp smirks with smiles radiant as a summer day. Evelynn pulls her lips back into a sneer and drags fangs too-close to her skin, and Ahri revels in the attention, the danger, entirely real (and somehow, they both know, also completely feigned.)

Evelynn gets in her moods, too, because for all her boasts there are days when she’s gone too long between meals and the weight of the dreaded numbness settles hard on her chest; Ahri holds her close in an iron grip and wraps her in so many tails, anchors her to let her feel real again. It’s never a pretty affair. She snarls, growls, and digs talons into Ahri’s shoulders so hard that she bleeds under her hooked grip — and Ahri grimaces, slightly, and bears the pain with grit teeth, distracts herself by appreciating the way shadows curl off of Evelynn’s body like steam off tea into the open air. Ahri holds on, still, murmurs quiet expressions of affection until Evelynn’s a bit more physical, a bit more composed, until she can slip the mask of practiced humanity back on and come back from that state of something barely even beastlike. Until she smiles at her with fangs, instead of unhinging her jaw to bear down on her with a mouth full of too many white needles — if Ahri’s ever feared her, it’s then, when Evelynn falls straight from “animal” into “monster” and loses words, loses expression, loses everything to that endless hunger.

(But she never hurts Ahri, even then; something holds her back, still, and Ahri realizes she’s safe when she finds herself staring into seven sets of gleaming red eyes that are still wide with adoration, when Evelynn rakes her claws against the stonework rather than rip Ahri apart.)

Ahri’s overwhelmed by it all, and often. She retreats into herself to bear the burden of so many memories, so many lives, condensed into her soul; that gravitational pull is what drew Evelynn to her in the first place, so, of course, Evelynn follows. 

Ahri lets her drink deep of whatever misery she’s recalling that day, and Evelynn finds her pleasure in the act, curling around Ahri with lashers and limbs and purring sweet nothings into her ear while she takes, and takes, savoring the sensations she can feel thrumming through her flesh until she’s well-fed and glowing with satisfaction. It’s only happenstance, she tells herself, that this helps Ahri too; physical contact brings them both back into the present, mutually anchored, satiated. 

Evelynn watches Ahri come back to herself, bit by bit, with something akin to relief.

Ahri beams at her after she’s been calmed — there’s so much there, so much more that Evelynn feels from her heart; wonderment, wariness, awe, attachment. Evelynn doesn’t bother to twist her face into some appropriate expression; instead, she melts into nothing to sweep around Ahri in a humming fog, alive with whispers and corporeal as anything, settling in a weighty mass atop Ahri’s chest to embrace a trancelike half-sleep after she’s taken her fill.

(Evelynn never says ‘thank you’, or, even more unthinkably, ‘I love you’. Not _genuinely_. But she doesn’t leave Ahri’s side, either, not even after centuries. Perhaps that’s the closest she’s able to get.)

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to xekstrin for cursing my ass with the uncontrollable need to write eveahri fluff. it was actually a nice warmup bit


End file.
